If There's a Will
by The Grey Phantom
Summary: He had only been dead a few hours, God! It had only been a few measly hours and he was already breaking down... again. ... Sam thinks about Dean's death and Hell. One-shot.


**A/N: After much deliberation, I have finally gotten around to writing some SPN fanfiction of my own. Just tell me what you think... And I want to know if any can see any metaphors that I deliberately put in there...**

**Disclaimer: Gah, they don't belong to me... They happen to belong to Kripke and those other people who can actually create characters, whereas I'm here... tormenting, analyzing, or playing with _their_ characters...  
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**If There's a Will, There's a Way**

_by the Grey Phantom_

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He had only been dead a few hours. God! It had only been a few measly hours and he was already breaking down again. Sam looked down at the speedometer of his brother's muscle car as tears began to blur his vision. _Ninety-five, _he thought, _Dean would kill me if he knew—_That thought did him in.

Pulling over on the side of the road, rain started to pelt his 1967 Chevy Impala. _His! His Impala!_ Knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel, Sam fought against the coming onslaught of tears, the tears that were just waiting for him to lose his grip on both the steering wheel and reality.

_First Mom, then Jess, then Dad… now Dean, not to mention the countless friends and allies along the way, how much more am I going to—No!_ Sam was not going down that path. Dean was the only one that had mattered to Sam, well, Dean and Jess, but Dean was there when Jess was killed. Now, Sam was alone, completely and utterly, alone.

No, that was not entirely true, Sam had Bobby, but after the way he had left the grizzled hunter after burying Dean, Sam didn't think he could even go back and face the man, the closest thing to a father both Sam and Dean had had in a long time.

But then the dam broke. All of the tears he had tried so hard not to shed were pouring just as quickly as the beginning onslaught of rain outside. Lifting his long legs up and around the steering wheel, he pulled them to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Sobs ripped from the shaggy boy, physically he may have been Sasquatch, as his brother had dubbed him all those years ago, but inside he was still that small little kid waiting for _his_ Dean and the ever-distant father that was John Winchester, to make everything better.

Reaching over and fumbling through the cardboard box of cassette tapes his brother kept in the back, Sam grabbed the first one he could wrap his shaking fingers around, shoving it in the worn tape player. The blaring notes of Metallica that Sam had teased his brother about when they finally had their reunion after a two-year college hiatus, rang out through the muscle car, _Dean's_ muscle car.

Sam took a moment to compose himself as the classic rock rolled over him. As his sobs subsided, Sam began shivering. Twisting himself to reach around to the back seat, he searched blindly behind him the driver's seat. A small smile played out across his lips; he had found what he was looking for, Dean's leather jacket. Sam wrapped the jacket over his bent knees and up over his shoulders.

Closing his eyes, Sam inhaled deeply. There it was, Dean's scent—the aftershave, the undertone of leather, the sweat and tears of the years all rolled up into a single little thing. But it was more than that, Sam could nearly smell the blood stains that were long gone, the hundreds of tears Dean had shed in this jacket, that _Sam_ and shed _on_ this jacket. Sam could almost feel the pain Dean had tried to crumple up and tuck away in the deep confines of this jacket, away from Sam and the few moments of peace and contentment they had shared together. Sam inhaled again, slowly, trying to maybe just a little bit closer to his hero, his idol, his older brother, his best friend, whom he had failed.

He _had_ failed. One year was all that Sam had been given to be with his brother. One year until Hell itself would wrench Dean away, and he had failed. He'd had one last chance to prove to his brother he was strong, one last chance to show him just how much he really did care about him. He was given one more chance to celebrate a birthday, a Thanksgiving, a Christmas. One last chance to save Dean instead of Dean saving Sam. And he had failed him.

Dean was in Hell because of Sam. Because Sam could not save himself. Because Sam could not save Dean. Because Dean just _had_ to always save Sammy.

_But not this time,_ Steely resolve formed in Sam's mind as he slowly lifted his face from Dean's jacket. Not this time. This time, Sam would save Dean, Sam would find a way to pull his brother from the Pit. He was standing at the crossroads, and no matter the cost, he would save Dean, and nothing was going to stop him.

Slipping the too small leather jacket on, Sam put the Impala in reverse and pulled out of the trees around him. Flipping the car around, Sam turned the booming Metallica up even louder and slammed on the accelerator. Nothing was going to stop him.

_Just hold on, Dean, I'm coming._

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**A/N: So, how was it? Was it at least decent for my first Supernatural fanfiction? A bit of feedback is greatly , as far as the metaphor thing went, the only thing I purposely put in there was Sam putting on Dean's jacket, meaning he had to become more like Dean in order to save him ... as seen in season 4... Just out of curiosity, anyone notice anything else like that?**


End file.
